


Most of the Time

by rizlowwritessortof



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, reader POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 15:13:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7273219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rizlowwritessortof/pseuds/rizlowwritessortof
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabble - I was feeling some Winchester feels...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Most of the Time

There are times when you seriously wonder why you made the choice to stay, why you decided to move in with the Winchesters in the first place. When Dean and Sam are bickering about every little thing, for example. Or when Dean gets in one of his 'I'm always right' moods. Or when you're just feeling a little hormonal and they both just seem to push your buttons.

But most of the time... Most of the time, you quietly watch as they sit hunched over the huge table in the library, their arms surrounding their laptops or thick, dusty books of ancient lore, trying to find what it is they need to hunt and how to kill it, or where there are people who, even though they have no idea of the danger they're in, need saving. The determined focus on their faces, the weary rolling of shoulders, the trudging to the kitchen for a snack or a beer to help them fight their way through another hour or two... if those oblivious victims out there could just see how important it is to the Winchester brothers that they are safe for one more day.

You do what you can to help, reading, digging through obscure volumes of forgotten knowledge, rubbing shoulders, bringing drinks, forcing them to go to bed. Sam will smile a weary smile, squeezing your shoulder, as he finally gives in, dragging himself to his room. Dean will turn to you, pulling you close, his arms around your waist, resting his head on your breast, nuzzling against you with a contented, exhausted sigh. And when you lead him by the hand to the room you share, you climb into bed beside him and hold him close, wishing you could just keep him there.

Most of the time... Most of the time, you hear Dean's slightly off-key singing as he cooks for the three of you - nothing fancy, mind you, but a good burger or steak, stick-to-your-ribs kind of food. And it's always flavorful, delicious, and made with such care that you'd love it even if it wasn't that great - but it always is. Dean pours his heart into everything he does for his family. Dean gives his all in everything he does for everyone, and if he gets a smile, or any kind of appreciation, he absorbs it like a child, eyes lighting up and a genuine smile on his face. Because he made you happy, because he made Sam happy. It's what he does.

Sam does those small things more quietly, because that's just who he is. You may find something that was broken neatly mended and sitting on your bed, and you'll just know it was Sam who fixed it. Or a book that you've wanted to read for some time suddenly appears on the library table, and he'll say, "Hey, I just finished that. Do you want to read it?" But you can tell the pages have never been turned, the spine has never been stretched, and your heart is warm with the kindness behind the thought.

Most of the time... Most of the time, when you're down and out, or just beat up from a hunt, you try to keep it to yourself. But those two men understand you better than you do yourself, sometimes. On those days, Sam may walk by and just give you a one-armed hug, or drop a kiss on top of your head with that rueful smile of his.

And Dean - well, Dean reads you like a book. He can always tell if you're on the verge of tears, and he just stops whatever he's doing and takes you in his arms, holding you close, one arm around your back and one hand cradling the back of your head, his chin resting on the crown of your head. He lets you get it out, gently rubbing your back and soothing you with, "It's okay, baby" and "Shhhh" noises, his fingers running through your hair. He'll gently tilt your face up and kiss you softly, and you feel cared for, and loved, and - better. And if you have some pent-up aggression - well, he loves to help you with that as well. He can tell if you need to surrender, let him take control and drive you to the point of losing all control, letting it all go, the anger, the frustration, the fear. In those moments, you are naked to each other, soul, mind and body - no secrets between you. The release is healing, for him and for you.

Most of the time... Most of the time, you get the bad guys, or kill the monsters, and then you come home and rest up for the next hunt, if you're lucky. Sometimes you play field surgeon, stitching wounds, removing bullets, taping broken or bruised ribs. Once in a while, they do the same for you. But mostly, because that's who they are, they are in harm's way and keeping you behind them, presenting a protective and intimidating front to the evil they face.

But sometimes - sometimes you lose someone. Sometimes an innocent life is lost, and it's weighs on you all, but especially on them. Sam mourns quietly, keeping his thoughts to himself, going through what happened and storing the knowledge away to be used in the future, hopefully to prevent another loss. His heart goes out to the families, the friends, and he wishes things had happened differently, but he holds in his heart the knowledge that they did everything they could humanly do.

Dean knows that, too. He does. But it doesn't stop him from blaming himself, from holding himself responsible. If you make mistakes when you hunt, somebody dies. Therefore, he must have made a mistake. And he carries the weight of every death he's ever seen, he carries the awful knowledge of what his tortured soul did in Hell, he doesn't think he will ever do enough to atone. How many people do you have to save? All of them. Sometimes you watch him drink himself into oblivion, and just try to help hold the pieces together. Sometimes when he gets to that point he lets himself fall apart in your arms. Sometimes the emotion carries him another direction, and you willingly bear the brunt, letting him exorcise his inner demons by taking you hard against a wall or in the confines of the car, letting him gain the release and relief he so desperately needs.

Most of the time... No, all of the time - you know that these men have become your family. These heroes that will never be seen, their bravery and self-sacrifice unknown to the myriad souls they have saved, are your world now. And, like most heroes, they are human. They are flawed. And they are the best men you've ever known.

Even if they do have popcorn fights during the movies you watch together.

Even if the prank wars drive you insane.

Even if their arguing makes you want to scream sometimes.

Even if you want to shake them and tell them to stop beating themselves up over things they can't control.

Because then Sam will walk by and reach that big paw of his over to ruffle your hair, and you can't help but smile even though it's kind of annoying.

And Dean will walk up behind you as you sit at the table doing research for the hundredth hour in a row, and he'll put his arms around you and nuzzle at your neck, and say, "Baby, I need a break. Let's go take a drive." And you'll realize again, curled up against him as the Impala rolls down the road, that you'll never want to be anywhere but here.


End file.
